


and i just can't look

by NotRyanRoss



Series: Darkside!Verse (The Illegal Vampire Assassin Agency) [2]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Vampire, M/M, Soul Punk Era Patrick Stump, Vampire Hunters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-05 22:18:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6725686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotRyanRoss/pseuds/NotRyanRoss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe Mikey should have hired Patrick Stump instead of Pete Wentz. He's good with a frying pan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and i just can't look

Patrick had what was probably the worst luck found in the entire Chicago area.

An extraordinary amount of bad things happened to Patrick Vaughn Stumph, an amount that would stun the everyday person. He didn't need black cats or broken mirrors or going under ladders to be unlucky; in fact, he had hypothesized that his pregnant mother had walked under a ladder, stepped on a mirror consequently breaking it and slipped, kicking a black cat.

The thing was, bad things happened. Today had been one of the worst; Patrick's day had started by being woken up by those pigeons having sex outside (loudly) and banged his head on the lamp painfully while sitting up. Then he'd looked at the clock, realised that he was unbelievably late for work, and he'd spilled coffee down his work shirt while running down the street, tripped in the gutter, and hit his nose on the concrete. It didn't bleed, but it was a close thing. He hadn't had breakfast, and when he stopped at the bus stop the service had been cancelled for the day. He would've called a taxi to spend his last ten dollars, but he'd left his wallet at home.

So he made the hour-long journey of walking to work.

Then he'd made it to work and realised that it was a Saturday, and it was his day off.

" _Fuck_."

So he'd started walking home.

Nothing surprisingly terrible happened on the way. Maybe that was surprising in itself. Maybe all his bad luck was just saving itself for later.

###

Pete Wentz was, frankly, utterly rubbish at assassinating people.

"Even Gerard can do a better job than you, and he's not even supposed to be killing targets," Mikey said, folding his hands neatly in front of him. "Do you know how sad it is that an escaped vampire criminal can murder people better than you?"

"Not very?" Pete ventured.

Pete secretly thought that the head of an elite assassin agency should be wearing something more interesting than jeans and an Anthrax t-shirt. Maybe some leather; or a cool mask. At least Gerard dyed his hair interesting colours; Mikey just looked unimpressed and nerdy in that weirdly hot way. It was a shame he was totally gone for Ray from the Vampire Pound (TM). Which was weird, because Mikey's agency literally hired outlaw vampires to do all their dirty work. They were like, the Romeo and Juliet of today.

The whole hiring vampires and _paying_ them why Pete was here, despite being exceptionally bad at killing people when he could have hightailed it to Canada like Mikey's brother and his boyfriend had. It wasn't like he could get a job any other way. So he'd got back in contact with Mikey when he returned to Chicago and signed up for the assassin training, along with a couple of others like Ryan Ross who wore too many scarves and Tyler, who liked ukelele and screaming.

"At least I'm not fucking the biggest vampire killer in the state," Pete grumbled.

Mikey hit him with a rolled up stack of leaflets. "Fuck off."

"Go out there, kill this asshole, or I will show up personally to shove a stake up your ass," Mikey instructed once Pete had stopped rolling on the floor and whining that he wasn't a masochist. Pete looked at the stakes on the wall and swallowed hard.

"Can I at least use a sniper rifle?" They'd gotten some in last week, and Pete was itching to try one.

"Whatever," his boss answered, clearly disinterested with the conversation. Pete had looked up and Mikey was playing Candy Crush on his phone.

So he'd got the location and drove over there. With his fancy new gun.

Nothing surprisingly terrible happened on the way. Maybe that was surprising in itself.

###

Patrick knew it had been too good to be true when he noticed the lock to his apartment door was broken, and really shittily. Clearly the robber wasn't very good at his job. Even Patrick himself was better at picking locks than this. He sighed and pushed open the door with one finger, squinting into the shadows and waiting for his eyes to adjust. He expected his guitars to be gone- maybe his wifi modem. But no, they were still on the floor where he'd left them.

What he wasn't expecting was for the guy to still be _here_.

He didn't notice at first, dropping his bag by the door and shuffling into the main living room. Patrick didn't notice much, but the movement out of the corner of his eye was still noted. He turned incrementally, wondering if the sexual deviant pigeons were taking up residence now. It'd be just his fucking luck if they did.

And that was when he saw the guy trying to snipe someone from his _fucking balcony_.

He couldn't see much of the guy, just the shadow of a fringe and what looked like a glow in the dark hoodie- and who thought those were cool, honestly. Patrick would call him out on it except for the fucking _sniper rifle_ he was aiming at the apartment window opposite Patrick's. He saw a flash of bright red fringe from his neighbour and saw the intruder aim, finger tightening on the trigger incrementally-

And that's when Patrick brained him with the frying pan.

###

Pete awoke to a pain in his head very much akin to someone who had been hit with a frying pan. This wasn't exactly an unusual occurence; often vodka did that to people, even vampires. Supernatural alcohol resilience wasn't any good when you drank your own weight in spirits. He groaned at the insistent throbbing in his brain, went to roll over in the covers and maybe grab that glass of wine he'd left and-

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

_Shit_.

He squinted open his eyes to find a very disgruntled human eyeing him. It wasn't even an 'oh hell, I hit a vampire' look anyone else would have; the guy just looked frighteningly pissed off. Pete tried for a smile, realising too late he was practically parading his illegal vampirism with the fangs and all. The guy still wasn't impressed, and that was when Pete tried to move and found he was very firmly tied to a chair.

The second thing he noticed about this human, other than his unimpressed expression, was how _hot_ he looked. Dyed blonde hair, hat, eyes that could have been blue or green or gold in the right light. He was wearing a blue shirt that was a few inches too big and pants that were a few inches too small, and when Pete breathed in, tasting the air, all he could smell was clean skin and a faint hint of deoderant. And _sunlight_ , he'd obviously been out in the sun recently and Pete missed that smell more than anything. It smelled like this guy was more powerful than the sun, like he _was_ the sun.

"I think you knocked the sun out of the sky because you smell so good," was what he blurted out to his attacker.

The blonde blinked, glanced outside to where the moon was still in the sky.  So maybe Pete's poetry was a little out of whack. He hadn't written anything in years, since before he'd been turned, but you never really got writing out of your system. Even now, Pete was writing metaphors in the back of his mind, wrapping absent words over verses.

"I think I knocked the brain cells out of your head," he replied, and that _voice_.

Pete tilted his head to the side.

"Why were you in my apartment with a gun?"

The guy seemed intrigued rather than violent at the moment, and it wasn't like Pete could escape, so he answered. "I was...hired, kind of, to kill Dun. The guy with the red hair that lives across from you.."

"You wanted to murder my neighbour."

"Pretty much," Pete replied cheerfully.

"That's kind of a dick move. Did he do anything bad?"

He shrugged. "Don't know. I do it for the cash, not for the morality."

"You don't think that's wrong?"

"I'm not getting paid any other way."

"Is it because you're...you know?"

"Yeah," Pete said, unaffected. He'd come to terms with it about a month after he'd been turned. It was just how life went, at this rate. According to the newspaper, about ten percent of the population ended up getting bitten. Of course, only zero point something became vampires, but that was besides the point.

"Oh."

A few long seconds went past and then the guy looked up at him sheepishly. Pete wasn't sure what that expression mean, but he could guess. His assailant looked kind of...guilty. Like he felt bad for braining Pete and saving poor Joshua's life. Even Pete was a little concerned about that, even though he hadn't thought of it until now. Why _was_ Dun being hunted?

"I'm Patrick Stump," the guy offered.

"Patrick," Pete let the name roll off of his tongue. He kind of liked it. It suited the guy in front of him well. "I'm Pete. Wentz."

"Pete Wentz the illegal vampire assassin," Patrick said after a moment.

"That pretty much sums me up right there," Pete agreed. "Gotta earn that AB Pos somehow."

"Really," Patrick deadpanned.

Pete hmmed back a response and Patrick leaned back in his seat, eyes alert above the shadows. Of course, this was when they heard the blare of sirens from outside, the telltale crackle of the VPs. Vampire Pounders were extremely bad news for Pete, but he was kind of stuck in this confounded chair and there was no way he could escape in time. Patrick's  eyes were wide, apprehensive, probably because having a vampire in your apartment was a definite no-no, and in that moment Pete was bracing himself for impoundment. He'd heard the horror stories, Iero would talk about it sometimes when Gerard decided to visit, eyes dark.

Of course, that was when Patrick freed him.

"You're full of surprises, Patrick Stump," Pete commented, standing up. It was at this point he noticed how close (and how short) Patrick actually _was_ and they ended up nearly nose-to-nose. Something nervous and fluttery landed in Pete's stomach and he could feel Patrick breathing against him, heart rate picking up. Pete wondered if his own heart would beat faster, if it could.

"I'm an idiot, is what I am," Patrick breathed. "I'm going to get jailed for this."

Pete could hear boots clomping up the staircase, heavy ones. Fuck. He wanted to be worried, and he kind of _was_ , but he also really wanted to kiss Patrick for some unknown reason, and from Patrick's blown pupils it looked like he wasn't alone. His hands landed on Patrick's hips just as the door cracked and blew inward. Motherfucker, it was fucking _Ray Toro_. Well, Pete was a dead man, he may as well get that kiss in before he endured years of mistreatment and finally, death.

Patrick's lips were so fucking _soft_. Pete wasn't sure if Patrick even knew what was going on at this point, because he just melted against Pete and kissed back. Maybe it was the adrenalin or something, but there were no complaints when Pete smoothed his hands down Patrick's thighs. Patrick made a noise in the back of his throat that went straight down and Pete shuddered, just as a sharp sliver of wood landed in the wall next to him.

"Fuck," Pete barked. Couldn't the guy let him have this before he died?

Ray Toro didn't really look apologetic, though, and Pete wasn't interested in his apologies. "Vampire. Come with me peacefully, or we will be forced to terminate you."

Ray took a step further into the room (Pete prepared himself for a painful death) and then there was a crash of glass next to Patrick and Mikey Way arrived in all his frightening glory. His expression was unreadable and Pete had really underestimated how much Mikey loved him, to reveal his coveted identity to his boyfriend. Ray was shocked at least, face paling as Mikey leveled his own gun straight at his chest. Pete couldn't tell what Mikey was thinking. He made an aborted step towards the younger Way brother, stopped, glanced at Patrick.

"Get the fuck out of here, Wentz," Mikey said flatly. "Take your new friend if you don't want him detained."

" _Mikey_?"

Ray Toro's voice sounded like heartbreak and despite trying to murder him, Pete felt a pang of sympathy. He didn't look back, though, just linked Patrick's fingers with his and pulled him out onto the balcony. That was Mikey's shitstorm and he wasn't going to be able to help. Patrick's eyes were wide with emotion, but he was holding on tightly to Pete so the vampire felt a little more confident. Especially when he leaned over to press his lips against Patrick's again. He smelled kind of like apple and vanilla.

"You don't _have_ to come with me. We barely know each other, I know it's weird," Pete whispered.

Patrick twitched when there was a yell from inside his apartment and the sound of a shot. Pete flinched as well, hoped like hell it had been Toro who had been shot. Patrick seemed to debate for a second, and then went silent. He sighed, and then straightened a little.

"Pete, you're honestly the most fucking hot person I've ever met, I hate my life, and I could get arrested if I stay," Patrick said. "Let's go."

Pete let out a startled giggle, squeezed him close. "Okay," he said into Patrick's fringe. "Okay."


End file.
